... With Michel Trad's return to poetry,

its fragrance returns to the white lily,

its pride returns to the red rose,

and the colors and sweet scents return to spring...

A wheel she rolls through the twilights of the vanishing light,

and her age, like the lily's, is twelve years —

knowing nothing, taking no account of these days.

Her dress is gay with an iris hue,

an iris-lilac tucked at the pocket-slits,

with green buttons, and its sash trailing the wide world behind her.

And snatches of song go circling round her;

a heap of black cherry-stones, set out in the dust —

he scampered off with it, and mischief crossed his mind.

. . . . .

He saw her vanish down the road; she returned no answer,

and that dream heaved a sigh in his head and died away,

and her wheel went on rolling in the mist.

Written specially for The Woman's Voice.

In their heart is the immortal symbol of the scourge of time.

In their heart is the message of ascent, even

in the boulders. From the depths of the seas to the mountain heights, from the miry, germ-ridden, moss-grown darknesses to the summit of light and crystal and clarity — this is the rocks' long march, nay, their epic. And is there in their loftiness anything but glory and honor? In it are the tombs of sacrifices, and the riddles

of death and life. And is there in their grandeur anything but might and majesty? In it are standing patience, and brooding pride, and everlasting silence. And is there in their terror anything but dangers? In it is the tale of the volcanoes and the blazing fire, and the story of the earthquakes and the hurricanes. And is there in their steadfastness anything but strength? In it is the declaration of the fates and the chains of night and day. And is there in their ruined places anything

but weakness and frailty? In them is the proof of a tenderness in their heart that is still alive, and of an affection still fresh with dew. In their ruined places is a house for the sparrow, and a shelter for the snail; and in them are flutes for the winds. And is there in their ranks anything but chaos? In them are embodied the first principles of life, in loosing and binding, and the laws of life, in diversity and unity; and in them is knowledge and guidance and inspiration for the masters of the arts.